Night Haunter
by jcdenton2012
Summary: Happy Halloween Everybody! I thought that I would make adding a new chapter to this story something of a... "tradition," once a year, henceforth. Enjoy


Chapter 1: "The Ripper"

'The night was still young,' so they liked to say, those dregs, those filthy men and women dressed in rags hobbling through the cobblestone streets of the Outer Necropolis. Yes, The Necropolis of Nostramo, standing upon its towering plateau like a crow's nest built of brick and rusting girders, the structure rattling and moaning, as the thick black soot from the numerous homes and factories dotted the landscape down below, misting through faint rays of star light before its visage.

From this perch, from this former great monument, the largest sprawling Hive of Nostramo, the city of Crows Rest, loomed far off into the distance beneath of an eerie red sun demarking mid-day. However, given the dying warmth of this star systems patron, the sky remained an eerie grey beneath clouds of blackened soot passing overhead where fading dots of distant stars remained ever present.

A sun of ominous crimson illuminated the eternal night overhead, shadowing the vast iron spires whose sharp angular Victorian arches rusted lines of brown through stone and mortar, as if the buildings themselves were nothing more than demonic illusions of shadows running past a setting visage. But, there was no optical illusion for Nostramo was indeed a world governed beneath the shadows of a dying sun, a world forever cast in night where the buildings built by man themselves seemed to weep seams of rust as they towered in oppression crushing the souls of those they themselves sheltered.

Here, the Necropolis, the ancient heart of the first mining colony settled upon this dreary rock, where once prosperous ore tunnels flourished to financially support the world's native economy, now they served a much more ominous purpose as a graveyard. Indeed, the old mines of Nostramo went on for miles beneath the Necropolis, filled with sewage from the old foundries on the surface, forever abandoned, housing the bleached bones of billions of humans whose names were lost forever to recorded history.

It was in this place that shadows cast down from the weeping spires melted into the stone and muck of the lower city, the Outer Necropolis. Men and women, dressed in Victorian attire roamed the streets in top hats and shawls, faces covered in black silk handkerchiefs to shield against the stagnant putrid waters surrounding the city of crows where the toxic runoff of the forge works spread in swirling rainbow colors of oil amongst the cobblestones.

These were the aristocrats, the high born on a world of eternal night, and so they walked the streets and back alleys in buggies pulled by mechanically crafted horses whose hooves clattered along the cobblestones merely adding to the pleas for food and coin from those poorly clothed dregs lining the roads. Such was the Nostramo way, the lower dregs forever nothing more in the eyes of upper echelons of society than a nuisance, not even worthy of attention.

One of the black buggies being pulled by such a mechanical steed passed by the mobs of putrid smelling and poorly clad masses, oil lamps illuminating the way as black eyes evolved to see within the eternal twilight pleaded for prayers that would never be answered, hands raised for offer of coin, and denied even that for sawdust laced bread.

Rainbow oil, actually more sewage than water, splashed beneath their iron wheels as the buggy passed through a nearby alley lined on both sides with large standing brick flats. The smell of rot and fermenting fecal matter arose from the streets where emptied chamber pots had prior tossed their contents out from the nearby buildings. It was this stench which troubled the buggies outriders as they checked their shotguns within the sporadic twilight of the evening amongst the numerous oil lamps illuminating their route through the lower city.

Both men were aged beyond their years, with pale skin and liver-spots upon their bodies, wearing thick wool inverse dress coats and top hats, their eyes darting between street level alcoves. They were scared, scared of the vigilante murderer running throughout the city killing crime lords no matter how well protected. This fact was further compounded by the knowledge that their riding patron wasn't exactly the most 'innocent' soul upon the planet… even by Nostramo standards.

Men and women alike used parasols of red and black, the two most common colors supplied by the dread planets native ecology. Together they huddled for warmth under the mid-day darkness as yellow flames illuminated from the cages of iron gas lanterns lined the streets while this buggy vanished down a back alley.

"Ye gats fool… are you at half-rats? Move out of the way!" yelled the driver as the buggie slowly came to rest several yards away down the alley as a lone lowly sod stepped out from the shadows. This man, he was odd and perhaps deaf, still refusing to move from the buggies path with his face still downturned beneath his raven feathered hat.

"Cant me a coin for some meats, gents?" laughed the beggar as he spread his arms to motion, 'peace.'

The two buggie runners both glowered in undisguised disgust, as the passenger wielding his shotgun hopped down from his seat, his booted feet splashing into the grey sludge upon the alleys flagstones. Slowly, he limped the distance between the beggar and the driver, his shotgun pushed up against his breast.

"You daft fool. I'll see you crapped with your neck broken at the gallows…" he grumbled while approaching the beggar. However, as he closed the distance he started to notice that something was amiss.

This man, the beggar, he was tall, easily six feet with broad shoulders and long black hair. Slowly, the buggy runner crept to a stop with his feet ankle deep within toxic sludge. It was now that the beggar lifted up his face revealing two deep black Nostraman eyes, his face chiseled like a marble statue, with blue vanes budging around his sockets.

The beggar smiled as his charcoal eyes suddenly sharpened from pain inflammation occurring deep within his mind. The shotgun wielding runner had mere seconds to live as the pretend beggar; in actuality a young Primarch better known as Night Haunter, used his witch sight to foresee all possible outcomes to his assault.

(Three steps forward. Dagger from the hip. Slit the man's throat. Roll left. Avoid the drivers first shot, Roll right… hit… blood oozes from wounds…)

(Three steps forward. Dagger from the hip. Slit the man's throat. Use his body as a shield. Driver's first shot hits the Runner. Roll left. Avoid the Drivers second shot. Driver reloads. Close distance. Jump on the buggy and stab the driver. Success)

What happened next happened far too quickly for mortal men as the startled Runner slowly started to raise his shotgun to his shoulder as he recognized the sudden threat for what it truly was, but… it was already far too late for the poor wretched guard as Konrad drew the iron dagger from his hip and with one fluid motion slashed the hobbling portly gentleman across the neck.

The driver watched the brutal murder, startled, as a wash of crimson flushed from his partner's neck like a paint stroke upon a naked canvas. Quickly, he drew his own shotgun and aimed it forward, reflex firing, but… he was far too slow.

Konrad had already seen these events play out in his mind with crystal clarity. Knowing how the driver was going to react, his first action had been to spin the dying Runner around and use his chest as a shield against the driver's first shotgun blast which aptly tore the man's sternum wide open, spilling his internal organs upon the ground in a gush of red fountaining meat which aptly splashed into the grey sewage upon the cobblestones.

The young primarch before his glory years then rushed forward weaving from side to side, still running the possible futures through his mind second by second, side stepping shotgun blasts while gritting his teeth at the sudden realizations of his possible mortal injuries, until at last he came before the carriage, jumped over the mechanical horses, and stabbed the driver in the throat with his dagger.

Red vita flashed on Konrads face as the drivers life slowly ebbed away beneath the dying red sun. Casually, he grinned and flopped down next to the deceased black clothed gentlemen, gore running down his chest and trousers before putting his iron dagger casually away.

The Night Haunter looked up at the twinkling stars at mid-day and smiled fondly, "Fancy a night-cap love?" he asked as a young woman as she quickly held a primitive flint-lock pistol against his head. He eyed her humorously, taking in her appearance. She was light, perhaps slightly below 73 kilograms, flat chested, her body clad in a green silk gown with a bustle skirt made of iron which almost made her look like some sort of weird owl.

"Those were my men…" she said angrily with an aristocratic accent while nudging the pistol against Konrad's temple, the Primarch's eyes flashing briefly in mild annoyance before he started to chuckle.

"Well, what are you waiting for?" he asked her. The woman growled and squeezed the trigger, but… nothing happened. "I have; of course, seen all possible outcomes to our lovely little ball darling," he mused as she tried to fire the pistol again and again while jumping down from the running boards and slowly walking away.

"Ohhhh sh—" she almost finished as Konrad appeared before her, his hand dagger slighting a wicked line up her sternum from her stomach. The woman dressed in green silk looked down at the blood and gore tumbling from her broken body with confusion.

"After all those little girls you whored out to rich old men… I thought this almost fitting…" he told her in a lovers embrace as his clothes coated in red from her vita. She opted to speak ever so briefly, but Konrad just twisted his blade in her chest causing her to spasm in pain.

"I just wanted to let you know," he told her with his lips almost against her ear, "When I leave your body here… it'll be violated by three street urchins and a rabid dog…"

She looked at him pained by the dying memory and finally passed away in his arms. Konrad dropped the vile woman's torn open corpse upon the ground and closed his trench coat to hide the blood stains upon his chest and leggings. As he walked away… he noticed a four legged beast, a grey coated Great Dann entering the backalley, sniffing its way towards the carriage and three human corpses as if in search of food scraps. The primarch grinned and turned away into the bustling streets as the wicked creature started to sniff the lifeless corpse of the foul child flesh seller.

Konrad vanished once more into the streets of Nostramo with its thick underlying clouds of coal dust and steam powered industrial infrastructure where Victorian Era men and women of the grim dark future thought him a serial killer, a ripper of the corrupt and evil.


End file.
